


If You're Not Listening then Don't Nod Your Head

by Sarcastic_Cupcake



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Emotional Hurt, Gen, Goodbyes, I Don't Even Know, Inspired by Real Events, Loneliness, Mental Health Issues, Metaphors, Sad, Self-Esteem Issues, Trust Issues, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 14:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15220847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcastic_Cupcake/pseuds/Sarcastic_Cupcake
Summary: I bleed words. I see them pooling under my skin in bruises along my legs I can’t remember, blue and black like spilled ink on a story of failed beginnings and what-ifs and should-haves, and you. You made me bleed.





	If You're Not Listening then Don't Nod Your Head

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Sticking It to Myself (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5zI4onpXsOo), by Jonathan Coulton

I bleed words. I see them pooling under my skin in bruises along my legs I can’t remember, blue and black like spilled ink on a story of failed beginnings and what-ifs and should-haves, and you. You made me bleed.

You made me bleed. Oh, I see the words now, dull and grey and lifeless as ash now they’ve been set free. How did this happen? Thinking of you used to bring butterflies, swirling giddy currents of constant anticipation and admiration. They were my pinkwashed memories and reflexive smile, gentle pinpricks of light to brighten my days. So blessed was I to have you as a friend, to be privileged enough to see you and talk with you and know you. And then…I don’t know when they turned from butterflies to butterfly knives, beautiful and shining and oh so sharp. They still swirl but this time their currents cut, and I leak vulnerability and self-hatred before the wounds seal shut again. I’ve gotten better at bandaging them, at letting my words spill out when nobody is around to hear them. I’ve gotten better at noticing my spiraling thoughts ( _everybody hates you and you have no friends you’re a failure and your life will never amount to anything you can’t do it nobody would care if you just fell off the face of the earth it’s pointless it’s pointless IT’S POINTLESS_ ) and asking my friends to try and drown them out. But sometimes I can’t help it; I know I’m looking for reassurance in the wrong place, but I talk to you and then your words are the knives.

_I really need help, I’m struggling and I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to keep this up_ and the reply comes “ _If there's anything I can do to help, just tell me_ ” and I want to scream, because that’s a devious nonanswer, suitable for an acquaintance, perhaps, or a newly-met stranger. But we know each other better than that, and we both know there are things you can do. I see you every day and not once have we talked because you were genuinely interested in what I had to say. You talk _to_ me if you need information I have, you talk _at_ me on the occasions when I say (or you wrongly think that) I need advice or you want to pacify your fears that we really don’t talk any more, but far more often you only talk to a group and I just happen to be near it. Sitting alone, I look up and see you nearing me, glance again and you’re gone. Opening up with stories of my struggles with mental illness, you simply leave the conversation half-finished, unwilling to reply to the messages I send you. Was it like this before, was I just blind to it? Am I just now noticing? Can you truly not see the cruelty of your interactions with me? I don’t know. But I know this is the end, I’ve seen this pattern before. Why don’t I know who you are now?

There was another friend, once. I’d like to say they saved my life, but they’d say that’s unnecessarily angsty and I just want to be free of their judgment now. It started this way, misunderstanding one too many statements, or asking one too many questions, or forcing one too many conversations. And it ended this way, with a question: “ _Am I the only one that feels like we’ve been drifting apart?_ ” and too many minutes later, “ _Yes_.” And they never talked with me again. I miss talking with them. Was it naïve to think you wouldn’t do that too? I wish it hadn’t been.

It hurts, but now at least I can put words to the pain because they’re the only thing I have left now. I used to force them into righteous fury, but it’s exhausting to hate so much and I’m already far too tired as it is. Sometimes there’s a sort of quiet, reflexive annoyance, when your callousness startles me, a worn-out “oh, _fuck_ you” with venom and meaning long ago lost. But that’s rare now, and it feels nice to be able to think that I’m eloquent when I say “It saddens me when I think of the friendship we could have had and I feel betrayed when you ignore me because I have told you specifically of my need for a friend, although that might just be the universe telling me that we were never meant to be in each others’ lives.”

And though I know you’ll never hear that, I at least have the cold comfort of knowing I can make something beautiful of the words I bleed.


End file.
